Why celebrate Grandparents Day?

Published: Wednesday, September 11, 2013 at 5:48 p.m.

Last Modified: Wednesday, September 11, 2013 at 5:48 p.m.

Sunday was National Grandparents Day, but I didn't know that America had such an occasion until my auntie called to remind me.

I was tempted to tell her that I would rather forget the day — being that this is my first year with no surviving grandparents to celebrate. In all the affirmation gained through collecting my ancestral research of the Kerr/Partee and Anthony/Roberts/Weems clan, I haven't been able to satisfy the discontentment left by losing my closest and last surviving grandparent in March.

Another columnist, Randy Hall, said it best when he wrote, "I must confess that the cynical side of my nature asked, 'Is there really a nationally recognized Grandparents Day? Or is it some scheme cooked up by the greeting card companies and flower shops?'" Well we can't blame Hallmark for this one. He noted that the celebration was officially declared in 1978 by President Jimmy Carter, coincidently the same year I was born.

Yet I never celebrated a single Grandparents Day while my parents' parents were living, so I asked myself, "Why should I celebrate it now?"

I spent many adult years being too busy to visit, and as a teenager my grandparents used to embarrass me. Grandpa H.M. always wanted to take pictures of me and my friends, and long before dementia, Granny Gladys tended to tell the same stories over and over again. Like the one about how my grandpa used to chase me down the hall — with a plain biscuit — when I would come snuggling up to him for a swig of his soda. "You never did like bread," she offered. She told that story to every guy I brought to her house.

I didn't appreciate those stories before starting my ancestral research, but as her health began to decline I became eager to hear any tale that Gladys remembered. Perhaps it was because I was given the name Genola (after my paternal grandmother), and she and I shared eerie physical and health similarities. Both she and my grandfather, Floyd Alexander Kerr Sr., passed away before I was born.

My research led me to wonder if Genola's abnormal lung disease could have given me clues about my own health? I have spent the past year getting to know her better (on paper) and valuing my final moments with Gladys. The thought of losing her became a struggle, and I would beg, "Granny, tell me that story about the biscuits."

A turning point for me came from Dominican writer Raquel Cepeda's presentation at the Bookmarks Festival in Winston-Salem. I had known Cepeda as a respected New York hip-hop journalist. She authored "And it Don't Stop: The Best American Hip-Hop Journalism of the Last 25 years." Cepeda writes fondly of early and more socially conscious hip-hop. I went to the presentation because of our shared love for the music and left with so much more as Cepeda read a few paragraphs from her biographical book, "Bird of Paradise: How I Became Latina."

Cepeda spoke candidly about her mother and father's identity issues, its impact on her own biracial identity and how she felt nurtured most by her relationship with her grandparents. While her parents were consumed by the failures of their relationship, she describes her grandparents' home as feeling like a "giant playground." It was the only place where she didn't feel invisible as a child.

Cepeda's book is an intense reminder of the cultural struggle for immigrants and their children, as well as how the strong desire to know where you came from can lead you to a love and appreciation for your own identity. I listened as she talked about discovering a lineage that was just as diverse as America itself. I look forward to reading the last part of her book as she explores the results of having several family members tested by Family Tree DNA for her own ancestral research.

She writes, "When we illuminate the road back to our ancestors, they have a way of reaching out, of manifesting themselves …" She later signed a copy of the book about her familial journey. "Dear Antionette, Identity is never settled," she aptly penned as I explained that I was doing my own ancestral research.

Thanks to Cepeda, I have come to understand and appreciate the noncommercial purpose of Grandparents Day, as stated in the preamble to the statute "to honor grandparents, to give grandparents an opportunity to show love for their children's children, and to help children become aware of the strength, information, and guidance older people can offer." Some of us grandchildren need a holiday as a reminder that discovering your own identity often begins with celebrating those who helped to shape us along the way.

Cepeda's book inspired me to continue writing out stories from my childhood, like moments with my grandparents that made me feel special. I'm starting with the first time I remember any adult noticing that I didn't like a certain food. I can almost hear my granny's voice now reminding me of how my grandpa used to chase me down the hall with a biscuit. After raising dozens of children, grandchildren and adopted children, even when Gladys couldn't remember my name, she never forgot that I was the one who didn't like bread.

Antionette Kerr is a freelance writer. You can email her at kerr@thewritefolks.com.

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